Fury
by Saber Wing
Summary: Noct remembered his father telling him once, half-jokingly, that there was a good reason Regis never allowed himself to be truly angry. Now he knew what it was. [Part 1: Fire and Fury]


Noctis was not having a good day. The dagger at his throat kind of confirmed it.

He flailed as his assailant backed him against a wall, dinner guests scrambling to get up from their seats in horror. Sure, Noctis might have declared, rather dramatically, that getting through this awful banquet was going to kill him—but he hadn't meant that literally.

One moment, Noctis had been feigning interest in a toast some nobody council member was making. The next, he was being hauled out of his seat by a stranger with rough hands.

"Nobody move!" A deep baritone he didn't recognize stopped everyone in their tracks. The man grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked his head up. Noctis could feel leather beneath his back, could see the Kingsglaive insignia carved into the hilt of the dagger.

The residual magic in the air was unmistakable. Someone had warped recently.

One of his father's glaives.

But why would any of them do this?

Noct's hands flexed, preparing to reach into the armiger. Before he could summon a dagger and warp the hell out of there, the glaive slammed his face up against the wall, twisting his arms behind his back and binding them expertly with a strap.

 _Damn._

"If you're gonna be so rough, you could at least buy me dinner first," Noctis quipped. A slight quiver in his voice betrayed the fear he'd managed to swallow for, oh, all of thirty seconds, until the initial adrenaline rush wore off.

Noct's captor turned him back around, pressing the dagger hard against his throat. His breath hitched. He struggled not to choke as the pressure increased.

"One more word and I swear I'll just kill you right now. I don't care what kind of pretty penny your daddy tries to pay for you."

Clarus Amicitia, hand on the hilt of his sword, stood motionless beside the King. He didn't draw, which Noctis was eternally grateful for. He liked his throat exactly the way it was, thank you very much.

Regis kept very still, fear and anger betrayed by the clenched fists at his sides. When his voice rang out, however, it was steady and calm.

"If money is what this is about, you may have it. Name your price."

Noct could feel his heart beating fast – too fast. He needed to calm down, keep his head on straight. Also, he should maybe not provoke the guy threatening to slit his jugular.

Noctis remembered the dagger Gladio insisted he keep strapped to his forearm. His connection to the armiger wasn't great yet, and his Shield worried he might not be able to conjure a weapon when he truly needed one. Obviously, he couldn't reach into his sleeve to grab the hidden blade now, but if he could shimmy it down his arm a little...

The glaive's shrill laughter made Noctis' blood run cold.

"You know what? Maybe that's not what this is about. Maybe I just really want to show you how it feels for someone to take everything from you."

Noctis flinched as the glaive's dagger bit into his throat. Just enough to draw blood, but he had to clench his lips together to stifle a gasp anyway.

Regis raised a hand toward the man. "What have I taken from you? Help me understand."

Noctis could feel the man's hand clench in his hair. Suddenly, it moved, and the glaive's bruising grip was clutching Noct's jaw painfully, holding his neck up at an unnatural angle. This time, he wasn't able to stop a pained groan.

"Her name was Esme," the glaive spat. "And she was pregnant. I suppose you could say you took _my_ son from me."

It was then that unbridled fear washed over Noctis.

This glaive resented the bloodline of Lucis. His father, specifically. One member of said bloodline was helplessly clutched against him with a blade at his throat.

Desperate people did desperate things. If he thought for a second Noctis' death might punish the man he despised...

 _Oh, fuck._

 _I don't want to die._

Despite himself, Noct found his eyes straying toward Regis. That was out of reflex more than anything else. His father had no power here. If this glaive really wanted to kill Noctis out of spite, he was going to do it.

Noctis' breath caught. He managed to stifle a whimper. Mostly.

The panic overtaking his expression must have been obvious. Regis caught his eye. Noctis read in the determination of his gaze that he had other plans, and he drew strength from that.

Noct steeled his resolve. Dying wasn't an option. Not here, and certainly not in front of his dad.

"I begged her to stay behind. To take a leave of absence so she and the baby wouldn't get hurt, you know? She was already far enough along that the doctors were worried, but she wanted to serve. Said we owed you our lives. Least we could do was give back, regardless of circumstance."

Finally, the dagger Noctis was banking on slid down his arm, and he could have sobbed with relief. It wasn't much yet, but at least he had a fighting chance.

Noctis thanked whatever Gods were watching that his captor couldn't see his hands. Carefully, he inched the dagger out of its holster and angled the blade upward, shifting his grip so it rested between his palms.

He bit his lip when the blade sliced his thumb open by accident. A small price to pay for keeping it concealed. Noctis would have to move carefully, but if he could cut the bindings just enough to slip a hand free, he might be able to warp himself out of this mess.

It was risky. The glaive could still kill him if he realized what was up before Noct managed to slip his neck free.

 _If_ he managed it.

 _One thing at a time, Noct. One thing at a time._

The glaive continued his tirade, shifting from foot to foot.

"I should have gotten us out. Left the city while I had the chance. I could have convinced her, right?" The glaive turned back toward Regis, as if he were actually looking for an answer. "Right?"

With every erratic movement, Noct's dagger slipped, and his mangled hands paid the price. He kept his lips clenched tightly together, swallowing the pain. Each slice was sheer torment, and the dagger's hilt was slick with blood, but none of the cuts felt deep. He had to keep working.

His captor was getting progressively more restless. Noct was worried he'd be discovered. Once, the glaive stumbled and shifted his hostage so far sideways, the prince nearly dropped his weapon.

Noctis froze, paralyzed with fear. Thankfully, the glaive didn't appear to have noticed, but someone else did.

Clarus' eyes flashed, sharp and knowing. He met Noct's gaze with something akin to respect.

Noctis was almost positive he'd seen the dagger. His suspicions were confirmed when Clarus nudged his father, speaking quickly in a hushed whisper.

For the first time, Noctis could see real fear shining beneath Regis' regal veneer of calm.

'Keep him talking,' Noctis mouthed. His hands were shaking so badly, it was a miracle he hadn't given himself away yet.

 _Keep it together, Noct. You can do this._

One wrong move and his life was forfeit. All the same, the voice in Noct's head steadied him, helped him swallow his panic.

It sounded suspiciously like Gladio, but he'd contemplate that some other time.

Regis moved a few steps closer. "I cannot put a price on human life. I know this. That being said, I would hand you the world for his safe return. There must be something I can offer you. Anything at all."

The glaive hesitated, choking back a sob.

For an instant, the dagger at Noctis' throat slipped. Though it only slackened for a moment, his heart soared. If the glaive loosened his grip on the blade just enough, Noct could slip his neck free, hopefully with minimal damage, and warp to safety.

"I guess we're at an impasse." The dagger pressed against Noctis' throat. White-hot pain radiated down his neck.

 _Shit,_ _fuck -_

Not now. Not when he was so close.

Regis' face twisted with anguish. "No, hold! Noctis is innocent! Do not punish him for sins that are mine. I founded the Kingsglaive. Every death among them is on my conscience, not his. Not yet."

Again, the glaive hesitated, heaving a frustrated sob. Noct might even have felt sorry for the guy, if he weren't a second away from severing an artery. As it was, the prince breathed an inward sigh of relief, working feverishly on the damn strap that just wouldn't _break_ -

"Gideon!" Another glaive, one Noctis recognized from around the Citadel. He had been waiting in the wings with the other guards on duty - ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. "Stop this, are you out of your mind? The prince isn't responsible for Esme's death any more than I am."

Finally, his faceless kidnapper had a name.

"Maybe not, Nyx, but his daddy is. And it sure as fuck will make me feel better to see our all-mighty sovereign break when this little brat bleeds to death."

Nyx glared, spitting his reply. "She wouldn't thank you for slaughtering children in their own home. If you do this, you're no better than the Niffs who killed her."

Noctis felt the leather strap give way under his blade just as the dagger at his throat slackened again, and he didn't think. He just jerked his neck sideways, slipped his arm free, and threw harder than he ever had before.

Noctis came down hard on the other side of the table. In his haste, he misjudged the landing and crashed up against the wall next to Nyx.

Nevertheless, he managed to stay on his feet. He was bloodied and shaking like a leaf, but he was alive.

He closed his eyes, his own heavy breathing filling his ears.

 _I'm alive. Holy shit._

Nyx reached out to steady him, pushing Noct behind him with his arm.

The King's Shield moved on Gideon the moment Noctis was out of his reach. Clarus slammed him up against the wall, twisting his arms behind his back. Quickly and efficiently, he and the other crownsguard carefully bound and disarmed the traitor.

Nyx ripped a strip of cloth from his undershirt, prodding Noctis' throat carefully. He whistled. "Good timing, Highness. If you'd moved a second sooner, you'd be bleeding like a stuck pig right now."

"Beginners luck, I guess," Noctis quipped, trying and failing at flippancy. His voice broke on the last word, and he grimaced. Noctis wanted badly to pretend he didn't sound as rattled as he felt, but he'd pretty much just ruined all hope of that.

"It's not bad. You'll live." Nyx patted his shoulder, and though his lips curved upward in a smirk, he had kind eyes. That was good enough for Noct at the moment. "Here, hold this there, okay?"

Noctis felt so wrung out from the whole thing, he could have collapsed on top of the guy. Instead, he did as he was told, gingerly pressing the makeshift compress to his wound.

He tugged at the collar of his dress shirt with a grimace. It was wet with blood, but he wasn't swimming in it, so he'd trust Nyx's expert opinion for what it was.

Noct thought, with a note of hysteria, that Ignis was going to give him hell for the stains.

With one last pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile, Nyx turned, taking up position in front of him again. Noct didn't have the energy to argue. The glaive was just doing his job. Honestly, if he was being embarrassingly honest, he sort of wanted to be protected right now anyway.

"Clarus, take your men and form up around Noctis. There could be others."

King Regis was generally a mild-mannered man. Anger from him was a rare occurrence, and when provoked, it was controlled, deliberate. Calculating.

This was a frigid, terrible rage, dripping like poison from his father's tongue.

The Shield hesitated. For a moment, Clarus looked like he wanted to protest, but quickly thought better of it. He moved back toward them, nodding approvingly to Nyx.

Approaching Noctis, Clarus gently took his chin in his hand, examining what was no doubt going to be an impressive bruise around his jaw. He looked Noctis up and down, checking the young prince over for other wounds with a keen eye.

Appearing satisfied, Clarus took up position in front of him, motioning to four crownsguard lining the walls, who fanned out in a half circle surrounding Noctis. Nyx kept his place at the center with him, daggers at the ready.

Noctis felt a pang of concern; wouldn't this leave his father unprotected? He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Regis' voice rang out, clear as a bell.

"Bring him to me." The two glaives currently restraining Gideon dragged their traitorous comrade forward, holding him bodily before King Regis.

The King stood motionless, save for his hands. As Noctis watched, Regis' fingers twitched, thin tendrils of lightning sparking from the ends. An involuntary sign of just how close he was to the edge of his control.

"Kneel, glaive."

Gideon spat at his feet, blood running in rivulets down his chin. Even from where Noctis watched across the room, he was taken aback by the sheer, unadulterated hatred in the man's eyes.

"You will kneel, or I will cut you down where you stand." There was a curious, violet tinge around the green of Regis' eyes, voice ringing with power Noctis couldn't ignore. He could feel it ebbing and flowing through the air, making his hair stand on end.

Noctis heard tales of this. His instructors often mentioned the legendary kings of old, allied with the Astrals, Gods in their own right. Nightmares, whispered fearfully by children in the dead of night. Or so he'd thought.

Regis was a storybook come to life; all righteous anger, and unfathomable violet eyes.

The glaives standing with Gideon forced him down to his knees, shoving his head forward in the worst mockery of a bow Noctis had ever seen in his life. The Ring of Lucii shimmered white in the muted light of the dining hall. He felt silly for imagining it, but in that moment, the object seemed to have a life all its own.

The King held it out in front of his face, contemplating the ring with cold fascination.

"The Lucii are not pleased. Should I let them have their way?"

For the first time, a glimmer of fear touched Gideon's expression. Hell, _Noctis_ was petrified, and he was probably the safest person in the room right now.

Suddenly, he understood why Clarus left his King's side. The whole of Niflheim's army could come down on their heads right this very moment, and they still wouldn't be able to topple King Regis on a rampage.

"I am not without sympathy. I lost my own wife, when Noctis was small. I know how all-consuming such pain can be. If you'd merely come after me, we might be having a different conversation."

Regis inched forward. Noctis was reminded of a jungle cat, stalking its prey.

"But you didn't come after me, did you, Sir Gideon? You got yourself placed on this evening's rotation. Waited until my attention was turned. Threatened _my son_ at the heart of my kingdom. And right this very moment, you are trying my patience. Urging my desire to end you and everything you've ever loved. Have I left any details out?"

Noctis gulped. He noted the faces of the Crownsguard surrounding him, pale with terror. Even Nyx looked positively gray in the face of his sovereign's true power, and he didn't seem the type who rattled easily.

Regis crouched in front of Gideon, slapping a hand on his shoulder hard enough that the glaives restraining him had to tighten their grips.

"Still, you've taken leave of your senses. I understand. No man in their right mind would dare assault any child of mine. Why, that would be worse than suicide."

Gideon struggled to recover himself. "Kill me then. It doesn't matter. I have nothing left to live for anyway."

Regis chuckled. His lips twisted upward in a parody of a smile.

"Oh no, not yet. Perhaps not ever. I can't be sure you've been working alone, after all. When my interrogators are through with you..." The King bent down close to his ear, hand clamping down so hard on Gideon's shoulder, Noct swore he heard something crack.

"...you will wish I'd killed you."

Gideon cried out in pain as Regis finally released his shoulder and rose, motioning to the other glaives with a jerk of his head.

"Lock him up. Get him out of my sight," the King bellowed, voice trembling with fury.

They didn't have to be told twice. The glaives hauled him up and out of the room before Noctis could blink. Any Crownsguard who weren't formed up around Noctis fell wordlessly into step behind them.

Regis squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. Divine judgment was clearly calling for him to redecorate their dining room with his new prisoner's entrails. Resisting that siren song couldn't be easy with the old kings whispering in his ear.

Noct remembered his father telling him once, half-jokingly, that there was a good reason Regis never allowed himself to be truly angry. Now he knew what it was.

The man was _fucking terrifying._

"Regis..." Clarus started forward. He stopped dead in his tracks when the King raised a hand, still without opening his eyes.

Noctis frowned, shrugging out from under Nyx's arm. His gentle, mild-mannered father would level cities for him. Hours ago, he would have been over the moon to know he meant so much, but now he just felt bad about the turmoil it caused.

"Dad, I'm okay."

Clarus reached out, grabbing his arm before he could move closer. "Noctis, don't."

Regis opened his eyes with a sigh. The strange violet light had retreated, leaving in its place a weariness that seemed bone deep. "It's all right, Clarus. I'm not so far gone that I'd ever harm him."

That seemed to satisfy the King's Shield. He released Noctis' arm. The young prince wasted no time crossing the distance. He took his father's hand with his free one, ignoring the pain it caused him.

Regis sighed, resting his forehead against Noctis' so gently, it brought tears to his eyes.

"It's okay. I'm okay."

"I'd do anything for you. You know that, right?" His father's voice was hushed, but there was an urgency in the words; a desperation Noct didn't understand. He didn't think he ever would.

After an evening like this, he doubted anyone would ever question Regis' love for Noct again.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know."

They broke apart, Regis pressing a kiss to his forehead before he retreated.

"Good. Let's get you looked at."

Noctis nodded, strength bleeding out of him. Now that all the excitement was over, he just felt exhausted. Regis led him out of the room, one arm behind his back. His cane, gripped all but forgotten in his other hand.

Anger was a powerful mistress. There was barely a limp in his father's gait, and honestly, that might have frightened Noctis more than anything else happening tonight.

Silently, Clarus and the others formed back up around them.

No one spoke. They probably couldn't – and Noctis knew without question that each and every one of them was thanking their lucky stars Regis and his Gods were on their side.

* * *

So, I'm aware that Regis does not have Covenants with the Astrals, but I have this head canon that he's able to channel them in some way anyhow. Considering Bahamut is guardian of the crystal, it's not inconceivable they might have a connection. Regis is raising the Chosen for them, after all. It's the least they can do.

Also, I just love writing Regis as a petrifying, papa bear pseudo-God. His men aren't ever going to be able to look at him the same way again. I might even write another piece exploring the aftermath, just for the comic relief, if nothing else.

Don't threaten Regis' boy. Also, obligatory Nyx cameo, because he's great and I love him.


End file.
